Welcome To America (Dobro Pozhalovat' v Ameriku)
by girl in the glen
Summary: The good, the bad and the ugly.


The scene was like something out of a war movie. Too many bodies strewn on the landscape, the result of a large explosion that had destroyed a factory outside of New York City. The victims were mostly middle aged, workers who had been happy to accept jobs with the company known as Black Bird Manufacturing Group.

On the scene were several members of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. They had been called in when it was determined that the building belonged to THRUSH. Police had found evidence of the Hierarchy's ownership, and also the location of the explosion.

Napoleon Solo was viewing the destruction with a jaundiced eye, his own experience with THRUSH no longer allowed for surprise at their schemes and failures. Obviously someone had made a mistake here, causing the explosion and costing so many lives.

"What do you make of it Illya? You're the explosives expert, what do you see here that has been missed?" Napoleon needed his partner to dig deep into his vase knowledge of the subject.

The Russian agent was somewhere else, lost in his memories. Images of destruction and death rose from the ashes of war, his own childhood a victim of scenes such as this as the Germans and then his own countrymen ravaged his homeland. He shook himself out of the approaching malaise.

"It will most likely be a longer process than simply observing it here today. Are there any survivors?"

"Two women so far.' Napoleon pointed to an ambulance where a team of medics were administering first aid to the only two survivors found thus far.

"Over there. Do you want to speak to them?" Napoleon knew a little of Illya's background, his years in a war torn country and the lingering effects that sometimes showed through the stoic exterior.

Illya nodded and proceeded without comment to where the women were being treated. He approached them without any indication of his own emotional upheaval. People who never encountered this type of devastating trauma on a personal level lacked the empathy to truly understand. Although a professional and a seasoned agent, this particular event was opening up memories he routinely pushed down into a place he preferred hidden from view. As he approached the two women, his heart ached for their sorrow and loss. Not the hardened Soviet people expected, Kuryakin knew the depths of despair this kind of tragedy could produce in a person's psyche.

His voice was like a balm as he began to speak to them in Russian. He recognized the pendant worn by the older of the two, a Russian Orthodox cross he had seen before.

"I am Illya Kuryakin, and I am here to help you. Are you alright?" They had tears in their eyes, the familiar accent in this place brought a sense of comfort they hadn't hoped to find.

"Yes, but so many people…" The younger woman began to cry, her shoulders convulsing with the grief and shock. Illya kneeled down next to her and put his arms around the girl, soothing words assuring her that it was going to get better. He was there to help.

"Who are you? Not KGB?" The older woman, (her name tag was still intact and spelled out Vladimira), knew something about the workings of Soviet espionage. Her husband had been a guard in one of the gulags known for such awful and cruel actions. It had been a miracle for them to escape from the Soviet Union and come to America. True Russians knew the truth of things, still speaking in hushed tones for fear of hidden dangers.

Illya understood her caution, and he hoped to dispel any concerning his own motives.

"I am an agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It is not a government agency, we are here to determine who caused this explosion; who it is who killed these people."

Vladimira looked more closely at the blond with the striking blue eyes. She could see his heritage now, the evidence of the Scandinavians who had occupied parts of Russia in centuries past.

"We were so happy to have a job and live in the housing provided for us. Now we are without income or home…" Her words drifted off, the unspoken clearly heard by Illya.

"Please, do not worry about that. I will make certain … it will be fine." Just what he was going to do to make it fine was not yet clear, but he knew he had to help these women. As he gained their confidence the women began to tell him about the facility and the people in it. The day had been like an other, although some men had arrived earlier in the day who did not work there. Vladimira had been on her lunch break and watched as they drove into the courtyard through a breezeway beneath the offices. She thought it odd when they left the vehicle and disappeared on foot into the adjacent woods.

Napoleon had been watching the interaction between his partner and the two women. When he saw Illya put his arms around the younger one he decided to get a closer look. As he approached them he was fairly certain that the women were Russian. It was the way they all clung to one another, not visibly, but emotionally. He could see it. It was his job to see things like that.

"Illya, ladies… Do we have anything to go on here?" Illya's demeanor changed immediately. Gone was the tenderness he had shown Vladimira and her friend. Training and conditioned responses to authority pulled the Russian back into a more professional attitude. Napoleon couldn't miss the change.

"The workers weren't aware of any explosives being stored here, but there were new people on the site today. They drove in and left their car, but left on foot. My bets are on the explosives in that car.' Illya looked at Napoleon with a hint of anguish in his voice.

"Most of the workers are, or were, Russian immigrants. It occurs to me that the bomb was intended for them, and not THRUSH."

Napoleon couldn't hide his concern over the implied accusation.

"Illya, what are you saying?" Kuryakin's eyes had gone from the brilliant blue for which he was admired by so many women, turning a grey that reminded Napoleon of an approaching storm.

"What I am saying is that there are many people who hate Russians, no matter how innocuous their presence and intentions. Hate and blind prejudice towards an entire population has driven people to violence too many times to number. I believe that is what we are dealing with here."

Illya was mad now, his countrymen were being targeted for irrational fears among ignorant and hateful people. His heart ached for the sorrow, both his and theirs.

Napoleon had a sinking feeling that his partner was right. Whatever THRUSH had been up to, no one would have known or understood who and what they were. But a factory full of Russian immigrants…

"Okay Illya. Let's find out who did this and turn them over to the authorities."

"Thank you Napoleon." Illya turned to Vladimira and Irina, her name now known to him thanks to the older woman's openness and trust.

"You will be taken care of, and we will find the people who did this. I promise you that." He spoke to them in Russian once more, explaining that UNCLE would find them new homes and help them settle into a safe environment. Neither of them had families any longer, and so would become each other's closest friend.

It didn't take long to locate the people responsible for the explosion at the THRUSH factory. Like so many bigots, their hatred was well documented by their own words and actions. Within twenty-four hours the men were in custody and settling into the prison facilities provided by the state of New York. It was small comfort in the face of so many deaths, but Illya was willing to let the system do its job in prosecuting and hopefully convicting the terrorists whose prejudice against the Soviets retained pockets of activity among a small group.

Napoleon observed his partner during the days following the explosion. His transformation from hardened spy to comforter had been intriguing to witness. There was no doubt that Illya loved his country, and his fellow Russians. The thought that there were people who would do him harm simply for the sake of his birthplace made Napoleon shiver in concern and disdain.

It was his job to have Illya's back while out in the field, but this incident told him that the job wasn't limited to a mission where the enemy was a clearly defined villain. Now he understood that, among his own countrymen, there could be a danger unique to being Russian.

Napoleon would not fail to be alert.


End file.
